


Écossaise

by renaissance



Series: you might belong in hufflepuff [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, LGBTQ Themes, Largely One-Sided Draco Malfoy/Zacharias Smith, M/M, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26302942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: Écossaise(noun, from French) - a Scottish style of formal dance, where dance partners stand opposite one another and weave about other couples in a complex ritualYule Ball(event, circa December 1994) - a formal dance at a school in the Scottish countryside, where teenagers who haven't thought about dating before now weave about each other in complex and mortifying rituals
Series: you might belong in hufflepuff [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/998829
Comments: 42
Kudos: 101





	Écossaise

**Author's Note:**

> or: yule ball but make it gay
> 
> as a note of caution, zacharias uses some derogatory language in this fic (but like, the call is coming from inside the house, so to speak). nothing too spicy but just in case!

Last year’s Hufflepuff Quidditch team had congregated at the far side of the lawns, by the pitch. The afternoon sun was high in the sky and cast the lot of them in a golden glow as they stood around chatting after class, crowding around and crowing over Cedric Diggory—Hufflepuff’s golden boy.

“I want to throw something at them,” Draco said.

“Stones?” Megan suggested.

“Seems a bit impersonal,” he said. “I’m considering my Nimbus.”

Megan whistled low. “How’s your aim?”

“Good enough to whack Diggory in the face,” Draco said. He shifted on the spot; they were sitting on a low branch of a great oak by the lake, one of the few spots on the lawns that had a view all the way around. “Not that I’d want to.”

“Got to keep Diggory in top shape for the second task,” Megan said, and Draco nodded solemnly.

There was no Quidditch this year: it had been pushed aside for the Triwizard Tournament. Draco couldn’t entirely resent this turn of events; he felt a fierce burst of pride every time he thought about Cedric being the Hogwarts champion, which came from a place somewhere deep in his chest that he was determined to keep under lock and key for the rest of his life. But this was meant to be his year—as last year had been, and the year before—to make it onto the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. And now here he was sitting in a tree with Megan—it was also meant to be _her_ year—watching everyone have fun without them. The team together, not because they had any training to do. Because they were _friends_.

“Save it for Potter,” Megan said. Potter—the false champion, the usurper—was ahead of Cedric after the first task; every time Draco remembered this, he almost felt worse than he did now, looking at the Quidditch team as an outsider, yet again.

By the pitch, Cedric said something, and Zacharias laughed.

“Or Smith,” Draco said. “Who does he think he is, swanning about like this? Hanging out with all these older students, pretending he’s so much better than us?”

“Thought he was your best mate,” Megan said, laughing.

“He is.” And that was the worst part of it.

From inside the castle, the dinner bell was ringing. Draco was waiting for Zacharias; he always waited for Zacharias for dinner, even when he wanted to dunk Zacharias’ head in the lake. And Megan was with him because Draco had known Zacharias would be with his Quidditch friends, and requested her as “moral support.” Susan’s words, not his, for every time Megan dragged him away when Zacharias’ “boo hoo I miss Quidditch I’m a big crybaby” moaning got too much. So Draco figured he could repay the favour and bring her with him to make fun of them now.

Megan seemed to appreciate it. “Smith is like—he thinks he’s hot shit, you know? Because he’s six feet tall. I could be six feet tall.”

“Don’t you dare,” Draco said. They were both five-six. Hannah—four foot eleven—had found an enchanted tape measure at Whitby’s Odds-and-Ends in Hogsmeade, which had become the talk of Hufflepuff, if you didn’t count Cedric being the Hogwarts Champion. Cedric was also six foot. Hannah had gone all blushy when he’d asked for a turn with the tape measure. Zacharias had preened and said, “I told him about it.”

“I’m just saying,” Megan said, “he thinks he’s special.”

They watched as the Quidditch group began to peel apart, Zacharias hot on Cedric’s heels as they talked about something that was probably stupid, and boring, and nothing Draco wanted to know about at all.

“We’ll show him next year,” Draco said, “when we get on the Quidditch team and he doesn’t.”

Draco thought Megan would’ve been all for that particular taunt, but she only looked at him curiously. “Don’t you want to play alongside him? Think about it… the three of us as Chasers. We’d be unstoppable.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Drawing closer to them now, Cedric and Zacharias had split off from the rest of the group entirely. Cedric was talking excitedly, gesturing. Zacharias looked small next to him.

“Wish I had something to throw,” Draco said. “I’d do it, you know.”

Megan laughed. “Okay, watch this.”

She jumped down from the tree and barrelled across the grass, full-tilt, at Zacharias and Cedric. Draco had no choice but to follow, even though he was under no circumstances going to throw _himself_. That came too close to symbolising something. Like he was throwing himself at Quidditch, not just trying to tackle his friend to the ground. And Draco could not let any of them know, especially not Cedric, how he sometimes wished that Professor Dumbledore would suddenly declare Quidditch was more important than anything else in the world and cancel the Triwizard Tournament.

“Oi, wanker!” Megan called, stopping short of a tackle. “Tosspot Smith!”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Cedric said, slapping Zacharias on the back. “Good luck, mate.”

Zacharias stammered out a thank you, goodbye, and the three of them watched as Cedric ran off to join the other seventh years on the team.

“Good luck with what?” Draco asked.

“None of your business,” Zacharias said; he was blushing, which meant it probably was Draco’s business, but he said nothing.

“You and your Quidditch friends,” Megan teased, “with your in-jokes. That’ll be us next year.”

Zacharias’ awkwardness dropped away in an instant. “I hope so. Andy’s in seventh year now, and Heidi says she’s going to quit to focus on her N.E.W.T.s next year, since she wants to get into the trainees programme at St. Mungo’s. So that’s only Cedric of the sixth years, and two open spots for Chasers, unless some incredible second year comes along—which, you know, could happen.”

“Don’t remind us,” Draco said.

“But seriously,” Zacharias said. “I want both of you on my team.”

“ _Whose_ team?” Megan kicked him in the shin. “Whose team, Smith?”

Draco let out a sigh, contented, as he watched Megan round on Zacharias. They were both laughing. Draco liked this Zacharias better than the one who got all stuck-up because he had cool, older friends. Quidditch or no Quidditch, Draco missed the bastard when he wasn’t around.

Running to catch up, he echoed, “Whose team is it again?”

* * *

“The Triwizard Tournament giveth,” Wayne said wisely, “and the Triwizard Tournament taketh away.”

This was after Megan’s second rant of the day about losing Quidditch—Draco was beginning to think she was even more disappointed about it than him—as they made their way from Transfiguration to lunch.

“I just fail to see what it _giveth_ us, except all these new students crowding up the Great Hall.”

“I wish they were crowding our table,” Draco said.

He was, for the most part, very happy in Hufflepuff these days. But every time he saw the Durmstrang students at the Slytherin table, he was overcome with jealousy. Viktor Krum was there, for Merlin’s sake! Draco had watched Viktor Krum from the top box at the Quidditch World Cup over summer and just the sight of him had almost made up for the fact that his father was barely talking to him, or that they were surrounded by Weasleys, and Potter too, and Draco had to pretend that he and Potter weren’t sort of friendly.

“It’s given us the Yule Ball!” Justin piped up. “Don’t forget about that!”

Draco _had_ forgotten about it. He thought about the grand get-togethers his parents threw in the ballroom at their Manor, or the events they used to drag him along to as a child, when it was still socially acceptable for him to be seen with them in public. Draco wanted to go back to that, and he didn’t. He certainly didn’t want those memories dredged up in Hogwarts, of all places. The place where he could be himself.

Megan paused, considering. “I s’pose that’ll be fun. I’ve never had a reason to stay over winter before…”

“No, nor I,” Justin said. “I can’t wait for it! Daddy sent me some money for dress robes—of course, getting it converted to Galleons was quite a chore from Hogwarts, but I’m putting in my mail order to Madam Malkin’s tonight. There are three styles in her catalogue I’m trying to choose between… perhaps I might just get all three?”

“You could spare a few of those Galleons for me,” Wayne said. “I’ve got hand-me-downs.”

“And then of course there’s the matter of _dates_ ,” Justin said.

“Oh!” Megan clapped her hands together just as they reached the Great Hall—a gaggle of Beauxbatons students turned to look at her. “I could find a boy from Durmstrang to take me. Alright, I think you’ve won me over. I like the Tournament now.”

Justin slapped her on the shoulder proudly, but Wayne looked furious. “A boy from Durmstrang? That’s all it takes?”

“So romantic,” Justin said wistfully.

“Yeah, well—” Wayne’s mouth opened and closed like a fish at the surface of the lake. “She should at least go with someone from Hogwarts!”

“I don’t see the point,” Draco said, “to any of it. It’s all just ceremony. There’s no real reason to take a date except to tell other people that you’ve taken a date.” He could sense Justin about to protest, so Draco called out to Zacharias and Susan, a few paces ahead. “Don’t you think, you two? Load of nonsense.”

Susan glanced over her shoulder, a curious look on her face. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think it’s nice.”

Zacharias did not say anything at all—just shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and walked faster.

The silence was so awkward that you could have shot a Jelly-Legs Jinx at the lot of them, and no-one would have moved an inch.

“Well I think that settles _that_ ,” Justin said at last. “So Megan, which Durmstrang boy’s caught your eye? Are we going to have to sit at the Slytherin table to scope them out?”

“Oh, bugger Slytherin,” Draco said, and walked faster, to catch up with Zacharias and Susan. Even if they were being weird, it was a better prospect than _that_ conversation.

* * *

It was still on his mind. It was stuffy and pointless and, Merlin help him, Draco was still thinking about the Yule Ball.

They sat in History of Magic that afternoon, listening to Binns giving an extraordinarily boring lecture on a schism in a group of magical philosophers, resulting in the formation of the Edinburgh School and the Southern Reformist groups. Draco’s knee bounced beneath his desk. He hated History of Magic. He already knew all this. Well, not _this_ rubbish specifically, but he knew everything about magical history he needed to know. He was raised with it.

And he was thinking about the Yule Ball.

“You don’t care about it, do you?” he whispered to Susan and Zacharias, sitting in the back row with him. “This whole—getting a date to the Ball nonsense?”

Zacharias ignored him completely; Susan gave him a sad smile. “Do you really think it’s nonsense?”

“Of course,” Draco said, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure. “Well, maybe.”

“… the Southern Reformists initially had trouble gathering support, being as they were so dispersed across the country,” Binns was saying. “That changed in May of 1683, when Francis Abbott—” He ignored Hannah’s curious raised hand, “—found an unlikely ally in the alchemist Alexander Barton…”

Susan looked down at her ream of parchment, bereft of notes, and hid a smile. “It’s just that… _I_ have a date, you know.”

“ _What_?” Draco said, so loudly that everyone in the class turned to look at him, with the exception of Professor Binns, who had gone off on a tangent about Alexander Barton’s advances in transmutation.

Susan shushed him. “It’s no big deal. It’s just… someone I want to go to the Ball with, and who wants to go with me. So we’re going together.”

“Well who is it?” Draco asked.

“I’m not telling,” Susan said, “since you think it’s all nonsense.”

“I don’t really think that,” Draco said.

“… now, where was I… oh! Yes, Francis Abbott. After two months of correspondence, Barton moved to Abbott’s residence in London, where they began working on what would become their seminal treatise on the philosophy of magic, _Ex Anima_ …”

Zacharias, at last, broke his silence on the matter: “ _I_ think it’s nonsense,” he said. “Fucking bullshit.”

It could just have been because he was whispering, out of deference to the fact that they were technically in class, but it sounded like his whole heart wasn’t in it.

“It’s not bullshit,” Draco said pleadingly, one last desperate attempt to get through to Susan. “Come on, tell me who you’re going with.”

“Nah,” Susan said, and returned to her parchment, writing _Southern Reform: theory of magic as an expression of the self_.

Draco scowled at his own blank parchment. Fine. Susan didn’t want to tell him—that was her choice. Privately, he agreed more with Zacharias. Bugger the whole operation.

Justin, who was sitting to Draco’s other side, elbowed him. “I’m going with Anthony.”

“… and following the publication of the first chapters of _Ex Anima_ in _Propheta_ that December, many more who identified with the Southern Reformist cause flocked to London…”

This time Draco kept his voice down: “What?”

“To the Ball,” Justin said. “In case you were curious.”

“Oh,” Draco said. His mouth hung half-open. “I… didn’t realise you could go with another boy.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “You can go with whoever you want.”

“… which marked the beginning of a lifelong collaboration between Barton and Abbott, who would go on to write six more volumes together, continuing to live together, no doubt so that they could access one another’s thoughts at any hour of the day…”

“Oh,” Draco said again. He turned away; he couldn’t say why, but it would have made him feel weird to keep looking at Justin, after that. He dipped his dried-up quill in fresh ink and, casting a glance at Susan’s notes, wrote _Ex Anima_ —Latin for “from the soul,” not that Draco really understood what that meant, either.

* * *

All the dress robes and fine music in the world couldn’t have got Draco to care about getting a date to the Yule Ball, but somehow the news that Justin was going with Anthony had put the wind beneath his broom. If Justin could get a date, then Draco could get one too. Could and maybe should. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. He didn’t know quite what that reputation was anymore, but people knew his name, and that was enough for a reputation to form.

As the winter holidays drew nearer, the Yule Ball was all anyone could talk about—with the exception of Zacharias, who still got all weird and sulky whenever it was mentioned. Late one night in their dorm, Zacharias abruptly closed the curtains on his bed the moment the topic came up.

“I got Megan to go with me,” Wayne boasted. “She’s given up on her Durmstrang dreams.”

Megan had told Draco about it earlier that day. “I talked to a few of them,” she’d said, “but they barely speak English. I can’t think of a worse way to spend a date than giving someone an English lesson. I told Wayne that was why, but he doesn’t get it. I don’t think he understands we’re just going _as friends_.”

“Do you think you’ll _go out_ with her?” Ernie asked, in reverent tones.

“Yeah, maybe.” Though Wayne didn’t look too confident. “I’m thinking of asking her to Hogsmeade while it’s snowing. A snow date is really romantic, right?”

“Yes, how charming!” Justin said. “And you, Ernie?”

Ernie went red. “What about me?”

Ernie was taking Hannah to the Ball; they were good enough friends that this had apparently been established quite early on, though it had nevertheless escaped Draco’s notice. They were also going as friends, but it was obvious to anyone who’d spent any time around Ernie that he had a great big crush on Hannah.

“Are you going to ask her out?” Justin pressed. “Oh, oh, you simply have to ask her at the Ball. It’s the perfect timing.”

“Wait,” Wayne said, “should I ask Megan out at the Ball?”

Draco couldn’t believe Justin, Wayne, and even Ernie had all managed to secure dates before him, when they were all clearly so clueless about girls. Draco wondered if there was any girl he might fancy—though he didn’t really talk to any girls outside the ones in his house and his grade, and they all had dates, so there wasn’t any point trying to fancy them now, was there?

He wondered if Zacharias had any girl he fancied. Maybe that was why he was acting so strangely about it—as far as Draco could tell, having a crush made people act ridiculously. He and Zacharias had plans to get up early the next morning and go flying. Draco resolved to ask him then.

While he sat with his thoughts, the conversation progressed without him, until Justin rounded on him. “Draco, you’re still not taking anyone?”

On second thoughts, maybe Zacharias had the right idea.

“None of your business,” Draco said. He lifted his feet off the edge of his bed and pulled his curtains shut.

* * *

The next morning, Zacharias was still in a foul mood. He barely spoke on their way down to the lawns; Draco watched as his knuckles turned white around the handle of his broom and wondered if now was the right time to ask after all. Never tickle a sleeping dragon, and all that.

He managed to hold it in while they were up in the air, racing each other in a perfunctory sort of way—Zacharias wasn’t exactly good company right now, so the flying wasn’t exactly fun. Draco was relieved when Zacharias declared, “I’m tired already,” and the two of them flew back down.

They lay there on the ground for a few minutes before Draco gave up on tact: “Do you have a date to the Yule Ball?”

“Malfoy, what the fuck?”

“I mean—” Draco sat up, closing his fist around a clump of grass. “You said you think it’s bullshit, but you don’t really, right? You go into a sulk every time someone brings it up.” He tore the blades of grass and let them scatter before grabbing another fistful. “If you have someone you want to ask, you should ask her.”

“For your information, I already tried asking someone,” Zacharias said. “And it didn’t go well, so.”

“Sorry, I suppose,” Draco said. “Who was it?”

Zacharias covered his face with both hands and muttered something that sounded like _Cedric_.

A couple of things suddenly made sense. Draco had so many questions he wanted to ask, but the one that came out of his mouth was, “You like boys?”

“Girls too,” Zacharias said, almost defensively, and a split-second later his expression turned to anger. He sat up sharply and shoved Draco’s shoulder, so hard he nearly toppled over. “So that’s what you’re getting out of this? I’ve just told you what is probably my biggest secret in the entire world, and you’re surprised because I’m a nancy?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Draco said, though he could guess, “but I think I have a right to ask. You’re my best friend! You could have told me.”

“Alright, well…” Zacharias turned away, red in the face. “I didn’t really _ask_ him. I asked if he was going with anyone, and he said yes, his _girlfriend_. And then he asked me if _I_ wanted to take anyone! Well what the fuck could I say? I said yes there was, didn’t tell him who… _good luck_ , he said. Good luck! Like I had a chance!”

“Cedric’s not that great, anyway,” Draco said.

“Yeah,” Zacharias said, “he is.”

Draco’s supply of grass to pull at was rapidly diminishing. “You should have told me.”

“It wouldn’t have been weird,” Zacharias said, ignoring him. “I mean—Justin’s going to the Ball with _his_ boyfriend. Sure, Cedric is older than me, but Mandy Brocklehurst has a boyfriend in sixth year, it’s only two years, and anyway Cho is a fifth year, so it’s not like he’d never—”

But Draco had stopped listening. “Anthony is Justin’s _boyfriend_?”

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking idiot,” Zacharias said, and for the first time in a long time Draco saw him crack a smile. “You didn’t notice how much time they spend together?”

Draco had noticed. He’d heard Justin talk about all the letters he and Anthony had exchanged over the summer, how one weekend they had taken the Muggle train to Paris together with Anthony’s big sister so Justin could climb the Eiffel Tower; he’d noticed how they always went to Hogsmeade together and how Justin grabbed Anthony’s elbow when they walked side by side, leant in to whisper to him. Draco hadn’t thought it _meant_ anything.

He twisted his mouth in and out of a frown, around the words he was trying to get out. “You have to _tell_ people these things.”

“Ah,” Zacharias said. “Justin told _me_ , see, because he knows I’m queer and you’re not.” He took a long look at Draco, one eyebrow raised. “It’s nothing to be jealous of, you know.”

“I know,” Draco said, and went back to yanking blades of grass from the lawn.

* * *

Susan would know what to do, Draco decided. Even if Susan wasn’t going to tell him who her date was, she _had_ a date, and that counted for something. Draco couldn’t stop thinking about Ernie and Wayne with their dates, and Zacharias with his crush, and Justin with a _boyfriend_. He needed a date and he needed one fast.

She had been keeping her distance from Draco lately, ever since their awkward conversation in the back of History of Magic. He knew he’d offended her, making a big deal out of how stupid he thought the Yule Ball was, but he didn’t know how to apologise. Susan was usually the person giving him sensible advice about these sorts of things. Zacharias’ advice amounted to “just act like everything is normal, and then it probably will be.” Draco didn’t think that would work here.

In the end, he cornered Susan in the Library, and simply said: “Sorry for the other day.”

“For telling me that getting a date is stupid?” She relaxed a little, her shoulders going slack. “I’m not mad at you about that.”

“Er, right,” Draco said. Then what was her problem? “Well—for what it’s worth, I don’t think that anymore.”

Susan smirked. “Oh yes?”

“Yes,” Draco said, “in fact… I rather think I might want a date of my own.”

“Do you want _advice_ from me, Draco?” She was grinning now, clearly pleased with herself.

“Well you _have_ one,” he said, definitely not pleased with himself, that it had come to this. “You know. A date. So I thought you might also know how to ask, or, maybe you know someone who still needs a date? Obviously, a girl, but… I’m not opposed to going with a boy, either. As a friend, of course. That doesn’t bother me.”

Susan’s smile dropped completely. “If it did bother you, I’m not sure I’d be the right person to advise you,” she said. “I, um—my date is a girl.”

“Like I said, it doesn’t bother me.” Draco swallowed. “Will you tell me who?”

“Just because Justin and Anthony don’t care who knows,” she said, “doesn’t mean we’re all that brave.”

“You don’t trust me,” Draco said reflexively. He knew it was the wrong thing to say. But Justin hadn’t told him, Zacharias hadn’t told him, and now Susan. It wasn’t about trust, because he had asked, and Zacharias and Susan both trusted him enough to answer. Still there was something he was missing. Like he was standing in front of a heavy iron gate, no wand, and the key was lying on the other side, just out of reach.

“Honestly, Draco,” Susan said, “I don’t know what’s going on inside your head.” Before he could ask what that meant, she went on: “Just find someone you like, as a friend, and ask them. It doesn’t need to be that hard.”

“Right,” Draco said. “Er, thanks.”

“Any time,” Susan said. It almost sounded like she meant it.

* * *

Draco didn’t notice the winter holidays starting; almost everyone had signed up to stay, even the younger years who weren’t allowed to go to the Ball, so there was no real change in Hogwarts’ occupancy. But as the Yule Ball approached, something in the air shifted: the atmosphere of anticipation dawned precisely one week before the Ball, the Triwizard Tournament all but forgotten.

And Draco still had no date.

It was easy enough for Susan to say, easy enough for Justin to tease Draco about it—which he did, constantly. He just had to find someone he liked. As a friend. As a friend? And ask them. The problem was, Draco didn’t have all that many friends. Just his housemates.

“It’s stupid, really,” Draco said to Zacharias, as they walked through the snow after another early morning flying session. “All of it. I miss having the castle to myself over winter.”

“To yourself?” Zacharias said. “So when I talk about _my_ Quidditch team, that’s self-centred and I’m a prat, but when you say _you_ have the castle to _your_ self—”

Draco kicked him in the shin, hard. “You know what I mean, arsehole.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zacharias said, “you’re still pissed about Quidditch, aren’t you? That’s all it is.”

“No, I—”

He was _pissed_ , as Zacharias put it, about not having anyone to take to the Yule Ball. But what did it matter, really, compared to Quidditch? Maybe Draco had only latched onto the Yule Ball the way he’d latched onto Quidditch as an idiot second year: because he needed something, an anchor to keep him tethered to Hogwarts, stop him from floating off. But maybe he didn’t need that at all. Maybe he already had it, in the castle itself, in a house he liked, surrounded by people he liked, a best friend he—

Oh.

“Smith,” Draco said, “come to the Ball with me.”

“Very funny,” Zacharias said, but when he noticed Draco had stopped walking, he stopped walking too. “Are you for real?”

“Yes, I’m for real,” Draco said, and hit him again, this time with the tail end of his Nimbus. “Come to the Ball with me. Be my date.”

Draco was expecting Zacharias to laugh at him, or hit him back. But Zacharias went dead quiet.

“Mate,” he said, “do you _like_ me?”

“Fuck off,” Draco said. “As a _friend_. Be my date as a friend.”

Zacharias scratched the back of his head. “I mean it’s—it’s alright if you do like me?” He made it sound like a question. “Or… you know, if you decided you do like boys, I’m obviously not going to judge you. I mean… we could even snog a bit, if you want?”

Draco’s mouth fell open. “I don’t want to kiss you.”

“Well, good,” Zacharias said. “I don’t want to kiss you either.”

They stood there in silence, the snow melting around their boots, as a fresh flurry blew through the air—both of them looking anywhere but at each other, which Draco only knew because he was, actually, looking at Zacharias, but only out of the corners of his eyes.

“Shit,” Draco said, “I think I might be—I think I like—”

“Me?” Zacharias said, panicked.

“Boys!”

Draco shouted it. He shouted it so loud the ground shook, the air parted and the snow flurries rushed away like ripples around a stone. Or it felt that way, at least: that Draco had shouted it loud enough to match the magnitude of the realisation, like a Bludger to the head, like a sudden snowstorm.

“Merlin’s trousers,” he said. “I like boys.”

“And girls?” Zacharias asked—almost hopefully, like he wondered if he was the only one.

Draco though about it for a second, but he didn’t need to take much longer than that. He had already spent the time fishing for a girl to fancy, and even the fact that he’d needed to think about it kind of said it all.

“I don’t think so.”

Zacharias knocked his broom against Draco’s arm. “Well, we can’t all be so multitalented.”

“Your only talents,” Draco said, “are throwing Quaffles and being a prick.”

“Are you sure you want to be seen at the Yule Ball with a prick like me?” Zacharias said. “Might be embarrassing. Almost more embarrassing than being in Hufflepuff.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you trying to weasel out of going with me?” Draco found his feet for this first time since they’d stopped, and took a big step back, working up enough momentum to kick a big clod of snow at Zacharias. “I got over the Hufflepuff thing. I’ll get over this one too.”

“If you say so,” Zacharias said. He dropped his broom and within seconds was most of the way to holding a sizeable snowball in his palms. “Then good luck getting over _me_. I’m handsome, smart, sporty… everything you could want in a date, really.”

And he was Draco’s favourite person in this whole stupid school, even when he was lobbing a snowball right at Draco’s head. Draco couldn’t have asked for more.

* * *

Draco’s dress robes were green. A rich, emerald green, with silver threads of embroidery running around a motif at the edges of pale green, almost white, lilies of the valley. It must have been his father’s idea of a joke—when Draco had informed his parents that dress robes were on the school list that year, his father had told Draco he’d take care of it. All Draco had been present for was the fitting at Madam Malkin’s. But though they made him look like a walking advertisement for Slytherin, they were beautiful robes. It made them very hard to hate.

Not that hard, though, Draco thought as he frantically waved his wand at his robes. He hated these beautiful robes to his core and he was going to make them a tastefully neutral plum purple, come hell or high water. At least, that was the idea.

“I think you’re saying it wrong,” Zacharias said. “For the five hundredth time, would you let me try?”

“I am _not_ going to let you fuck up my robes. Charms is your worst subject.”

“Herbology is my worst subject. Let me charm your fucking robes!”

It was like this—bickering in a corridor off to the side of the Great Hall—that Susan found them.

“Susan!” Zacharias rounded on her. “Tell Malfoy to let me charm his robes.”

But Draco wasn’t paying attention to Susan. He was distracted by the girl with her; shorter, and dressed in green just like Draco. It was Pansy Parkinson’s rude friend, Tracey, and she was smirking at Draco like she knew something he didn’t. Which, up until this moment, was true.

“They’re perfectly nice robes,” Susan said. “If you try to change too much, you might end up ruining the quality of the fabric.”

“Yeah, but they’re _green_ ,” Zacharias said. It was only then he seemed to notice Tracey. Hands on hips, he asked, “Speaking of, what’s she doing here?”

Susan went red all over; even the tips of her ears were flushed. “She’s… Tracey’s my girlfriend.”

“Hi,” Tracey said, unphased. She was the only person here having any fun at all. “We’ve already met.”

“Exactly,” Draco said, “we’ve already met! So why didn’t you tell me!”

“Because of this!” Susan said, folding her arms. “Because I knew you two would be weird about me dating a Slytherin.”

“And because I don’t like you all that much,” Tracey said. “No offence.”

On one level, Susan was right. Draco did feel weird about it. But as much as he felt weird that Susan was dating a Slytherin—practically the enemy!—or that it was Tracey, who had already made it plain to Draco and Zacharias that she thought they were tools, he felt weirder that he’d been the kind of friend who’d made Susan want to keep this a secret. There’d been nothing, no hint that they were even spending time together. And that wasn’t Susan’s fault.

“Well,” Draco said, pulling himself up to his full height, “if Tracey is willing to shake hands and make peace, then so am I.”

“I am _not_ shaking his hand,” Tracey said.

“And I’m sorry,” Draco said, ignoring her. “For acting like a twit about the whole, uh, the possibility of going to the Yule Ball with a, you know. About you going with a girl, and me, uh, potentially, going with a boy.”

Susan’s mouth formed a surprised _oh_ ; Tracey laughed with her whole body.

“You and Zach… ?” Susan began.

“That’s right,” Zacharias said, “we’re both—”

“On a date!” Draco said, before Zacharias could bring out any of the bad words for _gay_ he’d spent the last week teaching Draco. “With each other.”

“But we’re not dating,” Zacharias clarified. “Just two pansies having a nice night out. With no offence to your friend Miss Parkinson, Tracey.”

Tracey laughed again. “Maybe this one isn’t so bad.” She took Susan’s hand; Susan’s blush intensified. “And if you say the other one is alright too, Susie, I might be convinced to revise my opinion.”

“He’s alright,” Susan said. “When he’s not trying to ruin his dress robes. But I’m biased—I like green now.”

“I still say it sends the wrong message,” Zacharias said.

Draco sighed, and put his wand away. “Then I’ll send the wrong message. It’s just one night.” And with the company he was keeping, there was no way anyone would mistake where his loyalties lay. “Shall we… ?”

The four of them walked to the Great Hall together, where the music had not yet begun; the space rang with sound nevertheless, as people screeched and laughed and twirled each other in anticipation. It was mostly boys and girls arm-in-arm; Draco hadn’t expected any different. He was still puzzling out where he fit in with all this, how he was meant to talk about it, or even think about it—but he had friends who were like him, and that was always a good place to start.

Along with the other Hufflepuffs, Draco caught sight of Justin and Anthony, hands linked. Justin waved them over, and gestured between Draco and Zacharias.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

“None of your business,” Draco said, at the same time as Zacharias said, “We took a break from snogging to come to the Ball for a little while.”

“Ignore him,” Draco said, and punctuated the sentence with an elbow to Zacharias’ gut. “We’re just here as friends.”

“Alright,” Justin said, “so Zach won’t mind if I take one of your dances.”

The Yule Ball wasn’t _that_ kind of ball—there were no names to pencil into your dance card, no lining up and waiting for the chamber orchestra to start playing, to give you your cue. Draco didn’t know if Muggles danced like that too, but he had always got the impression that Justin’s family were the Muggle equivalent of well-off purebloods, so Justin’s Muggles probably punched their dance cards too. Something they had in common. _Another_ thing.

Zacharias shrugged. “No skin off my back.”

“You can have my third dance,” Draco said. That was always a polite number to claim, when both of you were there with someone else.

“Alright, enough with the posh bullshit.,” Zacharias said, clapping his hands together. At that, Anthony laughed behind his hand, but Justin didn’t seem to mind. They shared a look that made Draco want to look away.

He was about to say something to cut the tension—if there was tension, and he wasn’t just imagining it—but the band had begun to play, and the Triwizard Tournament champions took the centre of the Great Hall with their dates. Boys and girls; everyone’s eyes were on them. Draco, who had not looked away, was watching Justin as he toyed with the cuffs of Anthony’s too-long sleeves.

When he turned back, it was not to watch the dancers, but to Zacharias, who couldn’t tear his gaze away from Cedric Diggory.

“Must be hard to watch,” Draco said, trying to be casual about it.

Zacharias looked down at him, one eyebrow raised. “Big talk from someone who can’t stop telling people we’re here as _friends_.”

Taken aback, Draco said, “I thought you said you didn’t want to—you know.”

“I don’t.” Zacharias shrugged. “But I have to get over him somehow. And you clearly want…”

He didn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t need to.

“I don’t know what I want,” Draco said. No. That was a lie. “I—you’re my best friend. I want you to kiss your stupid crush.”

Zacharias broke into a grin. “Me too.”

“Then we’re on the same team.” Zacharias had taught him that one, too, alongside all the rude words and the crude jokes.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Zacharias said. “You made it onto my team this year, after all.”

“I think you’ll find it’s _my_ team, now,” Draco said.

They glared at each other for a few long seconds. Then, while the Triwizard champions danced and the rest of Hogwarts looked on, entranced, Zacharias put Draco in a headlock, and Draco tried to kick his legs out from beneath him, laughing. If this was the only date they ever went on—Draco thought it might be, though he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing yet—he wouldn’t want to do any other kind of dance.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this (slightly shorter and more focused) installment of the series! next up, we cut to the end of 4th year...


End file.
